


Wrecked

by Program



Category: Blade (Movie Series), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Crying, Double Oral Penetration, Face-Fucking, Gang Rape, M/M, Mr. New Vegas!Frost, No Lube, Rape, Slave!Scud, Spitroasting, Violence, Vomiting, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Program/pseuds/Program
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was definitely something Scud didn't think he could fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrecked

**Author's Note:**

> Some drabbling, woo.
> 
> For my pet, love you bae.

Scud looked up when Rex's mechanical howl broke the otherwise peaceful air. Well, peaceful from where he was standing in the shade of his repair garage. He squinted, grimacing as he wiped his hands on a perpetually dirty cloth before setting down his tools and standing up to watch the going ons.

Looked like a group of raiders, being rambunctious around Freeside and disrespecting the locals.

Rex obviously didn't like that and that meant Scud didnt like 'em. He'd put too much work into that dog to not trust his judgement. Everything he made or repaired was purely quality, after all!

He sighed and turned back to his work after they stumbled their way up to the gates to the strip, earning a disappointed shake of the head from Scud while he picked up the gun he was working on repairing and upgrading for some hotshot courier that was in town. Big news, that one.

He did what he could out of the run down gas station he worked out of, an old broken down van being his workshop and the building itself being his home, at least what he could make of it. He made odds and ends of what people wanted him to; repairing guns and armor, fixing things, making things work. The King himself had come to Scud to repair Rex more than once, and that dog was younger and younger every time the ol' Scudster had a look at 'im.

Rex never failed to put a smile on this kid's face.

Occasionally he did some work in the strip, what with being the best mechanic for miles and miles. If he couldn't make it work, it wasn't going to work. Hell, he'd made more than one of those flashing signs brighter than the stars on his own.

Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to figure out how to get that fucking slave collar off his damn neck even without all this expertise, so he usually just fucking hid it under a kerchief. People asked less questions that way.

He set back down to get into his work, inspecting for blemishes that he had the things to fix. He considered making a deal with that courier to start bringing him parts. Maybe, just maybe.

\---

He let the time go by, getting lost in repairs and making that gun prettier than ever just in time for the courier to drop in for it with a smile on their face. They thanked him, dropped him some extra caps for his troubles, and were on their way after a short promise that they'd drop in if they found anything he could use.

It'd been a long day, the sun was hot and the pavement was scorching. Scud needed to bathe and get himself a drink, maybe drop in and hang with the kings for a while before shutting in for the night. He'd locked up his van and was pulling down the garage door when a drunken snort came up behind him, followed by the sound of a bootsteps- quite a few of them. Scud sighed and turned around, ready to turn someone away when he was confronted by the group of three drunkenly swaggering raiders that seemed to still be in town.

Joy.

"Evenin'," he calmly drawled, leaning up a nearby support while fishing around in his pocket. He pulled out an inhaler of jet, taking a relaxed pull from it before stowing it away while his eyes never left the group.

The group eyed the motion and for all the world Scud could pat himself on the back for remaining collected under that unwanted scrutiny. What he did with his body and mind in this godforsaken wasteland was his business. "Look, I've just closed up shop so if you're needing repairs, you're gonna have to come back tomorrow, aight?" He made to move towards the door, feeling like he'd be a lot safer behind a locked door surrounded by home-made flash bang grenades and optimized weaponry. He didn't get quite so far when one of them stepped forward to bar his way with an outstretched arm.

"Look, we hear you're the best there was around at making something that works like shit- work like new, that you?" Scud swallowed, figuring he might as well.

He turned to face them, crossing his arms over his chest in a withdrawn gesture. "Yeah, _that me_ ," he bit out, tense. "But like I said, shops closed, come back tomorrow," he made to turn again but was stopped when the creep put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hear me out, k? We just need to get out of town, there's a thing goin' on tomorrow morning and we wanna be there, yeah? So we figured we could get our weapons all pretty to put us at the top of our game and we make it there in time," he passed a grin around to his comrades before finally fucking taking his hand off of Scud to spread his arms in a gesture of inspiration. "So how 'bout you help us out here, prettyboy."

Scud clenched his teeth behind closed lips, setting his jaw and digging his fingers into his arm to keep from punching the guy. But hey, get them out of town sooner? Sounded good.

"Y'know what, yeah sure I'll cut you guys a break, but y'know working after hours is gonna cost you extra," he moved towards the garage but was stopped towards yet _another_ hand on his shoulder.

"See here's the thing, kid. You're gonna do it for free, yeah?" oh fuck this.

"Okay, look buddy," he huffed, making a point to make a show of him shoving the hand off his shoulder and basking in the look of angry shock on the douchebag's face.

"No caps, no work- and you've been dicks to the locals," he throw his hands up in frustration.

"Fuck. Off."

The look on the raider's face went from surprised to dark reaaaal fast and that scared Scud. He took a buffering step back, just for that extra distance.

And then just like that, there was suddenly a gun pressed into his lower back and how the fuck did one get behind him- Oh. He still counted three, so that meant there was fucking four of them, great.

Douchebag Numero Uno cleared this throat while Scud was trying to look over his shoulder, thus pulling his attention back. "Let's fucking try this again, _prettyboy_ ," and ooh Scud did not like the way he'd said that. Douchebag A La Gun leaned in, pressing the barrel more firmly against his back. "Open the garage," he growled out and Scud proceeded to contemplate all the things he could kill a man with in that fucking garage, but turned to open it up anyway, only to be ushered inside before the door was closed behind the five of them.

"Look, just fucking give me the guns, I'll fix them, fuck," he bid out of irritation while he switched on the light, only to tense up good and fucking tight when the gun on his lower back was suddenly moving down even lower on his lower back until it was pressing against places unmentionable and Scud practically fucking leaped like a cat to move away, stumbling forward and grabbing for a nearby wrench to brandish.

"Okay, woah, back off I'm not interested," and now he was manic, jittery and panicked and he didn't think now would be a good time to reach for that jet to calm his nerves because he needed to concentrate on the dangerous people inside his home. They didn't seem to take his suggestion to heart.

"We just wanted our shit fixed, but you got a mouth on you that needs fixin' instead, so how about we go about this the easy way," the gun-holder waved him forward after their apparent leader called the shots, and Scud begrudgingly took a few tentative steps in their direction, jerked forward the rest of the way when the boss grabbed a strap of his denim overhalls and pulled him forward into their space, swiping the wrench out of his hand in the process and nonchalantly tossing it away from them.

The gun that was once more pointed against his person was very persuasive.

"Yeah okay, whatever man just...," his shoulders slumped, defeated. "Just fuckin' do it," he'd been expecting the fucking hit that came, only he hadn't quite been expecting it with the butt of a fucking gun, so when it collided with his jaw, he recoiled in startled pain and his hand shot up to cup the slash the sudden collision had caused, blood warm against his palm and he was pretty sure- yep. He spit out a tooth, grimacing. "Yeah, thanks, not like I needed that tooth or anything," he ground out, only to get hit again, though at least this time it was a fist, and it came from the other direction, so woops the other way he went.

He staggered, coughing and trying to gather himself when a grip on his kerchief tugged him back and off balance, but instead of falling he kept going, dragged along until they were standing at what he knew damn well was his work bench. He was manhandled until his overall straps had been undone and he'd been bent over the work bench between the vises and some douchebag with a hand on his hips was standing behind him.

His undershirt was shoved up and the overalls down, baring him to the bitterly cold air of his garage and whatever fucked up shit these assholes had in store for him.

"Woah, hey boss check this out," and one made a grab for his kerchief, Scud visibly flinching before they undid the fabric and pulled it away to reveal the bulky mechanism underneath; his mark of ownership.

"You kidding me? You're a fucking slave, that's precious," oh fuck all kinds of duck. "So you're used to this treatment, aren't you?" well, fucking _no_. Scud's particular keeper wasn't a dirty sleezebag, far from it in fact.

Scud's only solace was what said 'keeper' was going to do to these punks once he'd found out what they'd done. Scud was not above snitching.

Dry fingers pressed against his hole, nudging in an uncomfortable way until they were even more uncomfortably feeling around inside of him, touching things that really didn't belong to them. He grunted in discomfort, groping for something to hold onto on the table before a hand in his hair pulled his head up and directed his attention onto a half hard dick in his face.

 _Oh_.

"No- No fuckin' way I-," unfortunately apparently yes there was a way because during his moment of mouthy defiance, the raider had taken the opportunity to shut him up by shoving said dick in his mouth, his seemingly so favored gun pressed against Scud's busted cheek in a way that would blow his brains across the ceiling from the angle it was pointing.

"No teeth, slave," fuck he was gonna hurt someone. Alas, today was apparently not that fucking day, and instead of biting down like he really _really_ wanted to, he opted to comply because Scud liked his brain right where it was; in his skull in one piece.

He used a grip on the edge of the table to support himself while he halfheartedly blew one of his rapists, the finger count in his ass having risen from two to three as the bandit behind him worked towards stretching him to the minimum of being fucked without hurting the raider. Unfortunately, that was no promise for Scud's comfort in any way; it was still going to hurt like fuck and he knew it.

He knew very few people who had access to lubrication.

He felt sick, and the cock in his mouth felt wrong, completely violating and invasive and he wanted to bite down and spit out the detached bits, but the gun pressed against his skull was making him act like a good boy. He didn't want to know what Three and Four were doing, but he doubted they were going to sit and watch for long, they didn't seem the patient type.

Speaking of, his stomach dropped in horrible anticipation when the fingers pulled out of him, replaced by the blunt press of a cock and Scud honest to god fucking whimpered around the now full erection in his mouth, trying to lean away from the invasive organ slowly pushing into him in the most painful of ways. In doing so, he unintentionally gagged himself, which seemed to rile them up because suddenly the slow burn had become a sharp pain all up his spine when the raider one's dick was buried all the way inside of him. Raider two took his throaty, pained scream as some kind of cue to promptly fuck his mouth while One did the same to his ass.

He braced himself firmly against the workbench, unable to do much more than take the pain that was crackling up his spine like spark plugs hooked up to his nervous system.

Yeah he cried, yeah it fucking hurt. His eyes were squeezed shut against the burn of tears, on one hand from the pain, on another from the absolute fear. They could kill him, there was a gun to his head and they could blow his damn brains out once they were done with him and he was fucking terrified, and the thoughts alone were pulling the most disgraceful sounds out of his throat, barely able to escape around the dick in his mouth which gagged him every other thrust anyway.

He legitimately felt like being sick, but no time for that because One had picked up his pace, slamming in and out of him hard enough to jar the bench and Scud's first stupid thought was that they'd break it and he'd have to fix the damn thing, and isn't that just fucking trivial.

Three apparently had gotten bored, because he was shoving Two aside for a bit of room so he could press his erection into Scud's mouth alongside Two's, and he was seriously hoping Four wasn't considering doing the same with One, who seemed to be closing in on his climax from the way his thrusts had gotten short and cut off and- sure enough, moments later he was pressing in deep, spilling his load into Scud at the same time that Two got greedy and did the same with his mouth, shooting cum down his throat while holding Scud in place so he couldn't pull off to breathe, convulsing for oxygen.

By the time Two had finally pulled out, Scud couldn't have helped it if he tried, arms shaking with his white-knuckled grip on the table while he spewed the contents of his stomach onto the floor, vision blurred from the tears stinging his reddened cheeks.

He felt so filthy and used and he just wanted to die... or just go to bed. Whichever wor- Three got back to what he was doing, shoving his dick in Scud's mouth after he was done ejecting his breakfast and other things via his mouth and fucking his face with just as much vigor as Two had.

Which probably meant- yeah. Four had replaced One, fucking in a bit slower but getting to it with no less excitement. His insides were sore on both ends, his back hurt, his ass hurt, and he was pretty sure he had several splinters and a cut from the wood and metal of the workbench he was bent over and holding onto so dearly.

Scud was emotionally numb by this point, though he acutely felt every thrust inside of him and he convulsed in some mockery of a dry heave every single time Three's dick hit the back of his throat.

The two finished soon enough, filling him with more cum and leaving him bent over the bench shaking and crying and dry heaving semen while they righted themselves.

"Y'know, don't worry about the weapons, I think we'll be fine," and when they slammed the garage door shut behind them, Scud slowly slumped to the floor on his knees, cum leaking out of his fucked open hole and causing a whole knew wave of nausea. His face hurt, everything fucking hurt, and he just wanted to lay down and go to bed but his comfortable mattress was oh so far away.

He jerked violently when there was a metallic rapping on the garage door a short while later, and he stared with wide eyed terror when it slid up to reveal- a securitron.

Oh this was nice, there was a fucking securitron at his garage and he was sitting in a puddle of his and other peoples bodily fluids; a mix of blood and semen and fuckall knows what else, beaten and bloody and bruised and entirely pathetic.

The oh so dignified Scud.

The securitron cleared its 'throat' with a mechanical _ahem_.

"The boss has summoned you."

Scud grimaced, laughing under his breath at his shitty luck. "Yeah well uh," he coughed, his throat hoarse and he just sounded so wrecked.

"Tell the _boss_ I'm calling in sick to work," the securitron's screen turned into static before switching to an obvious live feed of- oh...

"Like fucking hell you're calling in- fuck," the video feed glitched for a moment before Deacon was looking closer into the camera feed on his end, his face shifting from shock, to disgust, to rage in a single beautiful moment. Then he was getting up out of his chair, pulling a gun Scud had made specially for him out of one of his desk drawers.

"Who the fuck fucking touched you," Scud ran a shaky hand through his own sex-messy hair, choking out a bitter laugh.

"Some shitty raiders, four of em, you can still catch 'em before they leave town," an unspoken please lingered before he got a response.

"I'm coming to get you," and if Scud squinted the right way, he could pretend Deacon was worried about him- but he wasnt. Mr. New Vegas himself didn't worry about anyone. He was stone cold and greedy and simply didn't like people touching his things. Scud was one of those things.

A few button presses later and a small pack of securitrons from the strip were on their way through Freeside, likely on a headhunt for some raiders.

Fun shit.

\---

Scud had passed out for a few minutes there, numb from the cold and the pain and more than one limb falling asleep on him, when a hand was on his shoulder shaking him awake.

Scud panicked and lashed out, but was curbed by a grip on his wrist.

"Chill the fuck out, moron, I'm taking you back to the Lucky 38 to get you fixed up," the man was scowling at the damage, hands hovering over injuries as if he not dare touch the tainted flesh. It made Scud feel that much more filthy.

"Oh, and I would fucking beat you for that smartass shit you said to me earlier, but I don't want to leave any more fucking scars than you're already going to have, so get the fuck up and let's go," oh man, Frost was angry.

This was definitely something Scud didn't think he could fix.


End file.
